


Caught

by barbarosabee



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Head Injury, Hurt Arthur Morgan, Hurt/Comfort, charthur if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-25 22:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20033545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbarosabee/pseuds/barbarosabee
Summary: Some bounty hunters catch up to Arthur just outside camp.





	Caught

**Author's Note:**

> anon asked: Bounty hunters catch up with Arthur right outside of camp, but my close enough for them to see the rest of the gang, so Arthur just lets them arrest him in hopes that the gang will notice he's gone, so he doesn't put them all in danger
> 
> this was gonna have a more complete plot but I fell asleep (holy shit I am so tired wtf) while writing it and lost my train of thought sob

Charles watched from the trees, silent, as Arthur surrendered, tossed his guns to the ground. Calliope was restless with all the guns pointed at her and the smells of unfamiliar men. She nipped at one of them when they approached with a length of rope to tie up Arthur.

Arthur was dragged from her back and she skittered sideways, not too far but out of reach of the bounty hunters. Charles stayed where he was, unmoving, not wanting to give his position away or risk them finding the rest of camp. He could hear Arthur speaking but not make out the words. Whatever he said earned him a kick in the ribs.

One of the bounty hunters pointed to Calliope; the leader shook his head, hauled Arthur onto the back of his own horse. The rest of the posse mounted up and sped off in a cloud of dust. Calliope danced in place, wanting to follow but uncertain if she should.

Charles whistled, low, and she turned wide eyes to him. He moved towards her, slow, wishing he had some food to lure her closer.

Snorting and uneasy but she allowed Charles to lead her back into camp.

Hosea, reading with his legs propped up on the table, noticed Arthur’s absence immediately.

“Where’s Arthur?”

“Bounty hunters got him just outside camp,” Charles answered as he hitched Calliope.

Hosea folded his paper, swung his legs off the table. “Do they know we’re here?”

“Didn’t look like it. Looked like they were headed for Valentine, maybe I can catch up to them before they hit the sheriff’s office.”

Charles didn’t wait for Hosea’s response, just whistled for Taima and swung into her saddle and then they were tearing down the track.

The trail was easy to follow, several sets of deep hoof prints stamped into the dry earth. One deeper set that must be the horse carrying Arthur.

The posse hadn’t turned towards Valentine.

Charles followed the tracks into the Heartlands a ways, where they disappeared into the grass at a crossroads. They were indiscreet, the grass flattened in a wide trail of the five horses riding side-by-side. Charles came to an area of wildly churned ground, clumps of the prairie flung in a broad circle. An arc of blood formed its own trail away from the chaos and Charles kicked Taima into a canter.

The blood was easier to follow. Enough that concern soured Charles’ stomach and he didn’t feel the late-afternoon heat on his back.

It lead him towards the Overflow. He stowed Taima in the dip between two hills, out of sight, and drew his shotgun from his saddle.

He heard voices as he approached the little gulch. Tucked into a bush and surveyed the men gathered in a loose circle in the shade of a large oak tree.

They were dressed like bounty hunters, sure, but Charles didn’t think it was common practice to tie your bounty to a tree and take turns beating on him. And, sure, Arthur was wanted dead or alive in three states and the price on his head was high enough to make any hunter careless. But the way the leader approached Arthur, dragged his head back by the hair, spat in his face—seemed personal. Charles risked creeping closer so he could make out what the leader was saying.

“You got anything to say for yourself?”

“Think you got the wrong feller, I don’t—”

Arthur’s head was slammed back into the tree. The man backhanded him, grabbed his hair again and  _ yanked _ . “You don’t remember, huh! Kill so many people you don’t even remember shooting him!”

“I ain’t even—”

He slammed Arthur’s head, again, and again, and again and probably would’ve kept going if two of the other men hadn’t dragged him away

“Jesus, Matthew, we said you could rough him up a bit, not kill him.”

“He killed my boy!”

“And I told you, I ain’t killed no kids,” Arthur groaned out, head lolling. The ropes were the only thing keeping him up. Amazed Charles he was still conscious.

“You sure we got the right guy?” One of the men, hanging back by the horses, had a large bounty poster in hand. “Don’t look much like the poster. . . .”

Matthew stomped over and ripped the poster away, spent a minute glancing between the poster and Arthur. The furious slant of his brows never lessened, mouth pressed tight. Charles could see him sweating even from here.

“He shaved the beard, that’s all. I ain’t forgetting the face of the man who shot my son.” Matthew crumpled the poster, tossed it over his shoulder. The other men didn’t try to stop him from approaching Arthur. Charles edged closer—a few more feet and he could take out at least a few of them with throwing knives.

Matthew crouched in front of Arthur, a large knife in hand. “My boy suffered, and you’re going to suffer worse, Harold Cavendish.”

Well, shit, they really  _ did  _ have the wrong guy. Charles would’ve laughed were the situation less dire.

Arthur laughed, loud and bright straight into Matthew’s face. “The hell kinda name is Harold Cavendish?”

“It’s your name, you lying murdering  _ son of a bitch _ .”

Charles threw his knife before Matthew could use his. Didn’t have enough time to aim properly and it buried into Matthew’s shoulder, but it got him away from Arthur and that was all that mattered.

Matthew pitched sideways with a cry and the rest of the bounty hunters frantically shot into the bushes. Charles clung to cover as long as he could, then burst out shotgun blazing. Made quick work of the men and shot Matthew in the back of the head for good measure.

The ensuing silence quickly filled with Arthur’s loud breathing.

“That you, Charles?”

Charles made quick work of cutting the ropes, caught Arthur before he landed face-first in the mud. “Yeah, it’s me.” Charles lowered Arthur to the ground, leaned him against the tree and whistled for Taima. “You hurt? I followed a trail of blood here.”

“Horse got spooked and threw us, think my nose is broke.”

Charles leaned back a bit to get a thorough look at Arthur. Blood had soaked into the top of his shirt, but it didn’t look like the nose was bleeding any more. Definitely crooked. What concerned Charles more was that Arthur wasn’t looking at him, eyes somewhere over Charles’ shoulder.

“Arthur, can you see me?”

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, blinked rapidly. “. . .no. I can’t see anything. Charles, I can’t see—”

“Hey, it’s alright.” Charles held Arthur’s head in both hands. “You hit your head pretty hard, it’ll heal.”

“Charles—” Arthur fumbled around, smacked Charles before his grip landed somewhere around Charles’ elbows. “Charles, if I can’t. If I can’t.” Arthur swallowed audibly. Charles squeezed his shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it. Right now, we need to get you back to camp.”

Arthur clung to Charles’ arms as he helped him stand, didn’t let go as he was guided over to Taima. Wouldn’t let go when Charles tried to mount.

“Arthur. . . .”

“Don’t. Charles.”

“It’s alright, Arthur.”

Charles got Arthur into the saddle, mounted behind him. Caged Arthur between his arms as he grabbed the reins. Leaned in close to speak directly into his ear. “I’ve got you.”

Arthur leaned back, heavy, into Charles. Tensed whenever they went up or down a hill. Charles gave him advanced warning the next time the terrain changed.

Charles sped them up once they reached the flat road. Arthur groaned, released his death grip on Charles’ arm to bring one hand up to the back of his head. Charles leaned back enough to see blood had seeped into the back of Arthur’s shirt from the head wound.

“Not much farther.”

Arthur seemed to give up all the way, then, his weight slumped against Charles. Charles thought he felt blood soaking his shirt, and once he confirmed Arthur had well and truly passed out, he pushed Taima into an all-out gallop.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Harold Cavendish was the dumbest name I could come up with.


End file.
